Chapter 2
Chapter Two
RED
“ P lay my cards, right?” I ask in biting tones. I shouldn’t be surprised by Billy’s behavior. This has always been the pattern with my baby brother and me. Despite having two hardworking, uber-functional parents and one wildly overachieving older sister, Billy is the epitome of irresponsibility.
“Geez, sis, don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?” He laughs in a laidback sort of way like nothing really matters.
I press my hand firmly over my mouth, working hard not to shriek. Once I’ve reigned in my inner banshee, I ask, “Are you ever going to grow up or take responsibility for your actions?”
“I want to see you last five minutes in a rodeo arena,” he snorts.
“I don’t have to escape to the rodeo ring to live out little boy fantasies in a defunct sport that capitalizes on exploiting animals. I’m a grown-ass woman functioning in the real world. More than the real world—New York City.”
“In an industry that profits from killing and skinning animals. I can say with firm conviction that no cow or calf has died because of my roping. But damn, girl, that winter collection of yours nearly cleaned out the mink farming industry.”
I roll my eyes at his obvious exaggeration. He only knows about this because of the bad press the show garnered when PETA protested, throwing red paint on a few attendees. Otherwise, the man never keeps up with anything in my career or personal life.
Scanning the article, I read the key points to Billy. “Jameson & Cash will be integrally linked with the larger Red brand… Rumors continue to swirl around the unexpected engagement between Red owner Lesley Cash and her much younger potential business partner Ronald Jameson.”
I spit out the last name, snarling. I may dislike Billy’s predilection to irresponsibility. But Ronald Jameson is King Fuck Up. A big-headed rodeo star, swimming in a constant barrage of skanky buckle bunnies. Yuck! His well-earned nickname reflects a lifetime of mischief, general orneriness, and irresponsibility. Drinking, partying, womanizing, fistfighting, you name it…
And all while looking so goddamn gorgeous, I can’t stand to be in the same room with him. Because I melt every time. What he does to my heart and body when I’m around him is inexcusable and uncontrollable. He’s human whiskey...a road to ruin paved with bad decisions and morning-after regrets. Thankfully, I’ve managed to avoid the last part.
Fortunately, I see Rowdy very rarely these days, and we avoid each other like the plague when we do. But he’s always in attendance at family functions, thanks to my parents more or less adopting him when he was nine, and I was seventeen. I’ve always wondered if it was their way of replacing me when I announced my move to New York and entrance into design school…
Billy and Rowdy going into rodeoing pleased my parents to no end. But me climbing the ranks of the fashion industry? Not only do they fail to understand a thing about it, but they feel betrayed I chose uppity big-city living over moldering away in the podunk cowtown my ancestors built.
Panic colors my voice. “Unexpected engagement? To Rowdy? No, no, no…” I shake my head, unable to find bigger words. “No!”
Billy laughs. “You can thank me later.”
“Thank you?” I scream before catching myself.
“Don’t they say all publicity is good publicity?” he counters with a thin laugh.
“You’re a dumbass. Oh my God!”
“Calm down, sis?—”
I inhale loudly, opening my mouth to launch into a diatribe, but he cuts me off.
“Before you freak out further, will you let me explain why this article could be the best thing that ever happened to Red?”
Thank God he’s in the Caribbean because murder’s on my mind…
“Rowdy and I have put a ton of work into the Jameson & Cash brand. We’ve invested our capital into defining and refining it, identifying a market, hiring a design team to bring our products to life, and creating garments and accessories that will be fit tested for the first time tomorrow. It’s a solid line with the backing of some generous local investors, and we’d like to see it grow. But there’s always the prejudice of having a rural brand in a big-city market like the fashion industry… That’s where you come in. We’ve got a handful of big-name investors about to bite. But they require assurances we can play with the big boys in New York, Paris, and Milan. You can provide these assurances, Lesley. Rowdy’s busy obtaining materials, lining up manufacturers, and getting our ducks in a row. The man’s a fiend when it comes to working hard. He reminds me a lot of you, actually…”
I roll my eyes. My brother has to be drunker than he sounds.
“It’s time for you and Rowdy to set aside whatever petty personal differences you have and do something for the greater good of your two brands.”
“Petty personal differences?” I snuff. “I don’t fucking like him. End of story.” Not only did he replace me in the family, as far as I can tell, but he’s everything that made me flee Alpha Ridge Creek in the first place, a big, dumb redneck who leads with his belt buckle and dick.
“I know we played a lot of practical jokes on you when you were a teenager, but how long are you going to hold a grudge against him?”
“Forever. Duh!”
“I forgot how ridiculous you can be sometimes…”
“You and Rowdy are baby boys who don’t know the first thing about the fashion industry. I told you this when you first pitched Jameson & Cash, and I’m telling you again. You do not have the talent or the balls to succeed in this industry. As hard as I have worked and as far as I have come over the past decade, I refuse to hitch my luxury yacht to your sinking lifeboat.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d say that, which has something to do with what I told Malia. I’m sure you’re already pulling your PR team together to write some strongly worded statement about the inaccuracies of her story. But you might want to look at the investors we have lined up before you cut off your nose to spite your face. I’m sending you an email now.”
Snorting at his words, I open a new browser window. “Which email address are you sending it to?” I’ve lost count of how many I have.
“Your personal account. You know, with your former married name.”
He’s trying to piss me off now. He knows I hate that name and any reminders of my former life. But he loves using it to remind me of the biggest, most public failure I’ve experienced to date. I should have gotten rid of the account as soon as the divorce was finalized six months ago. But I still receive enough important messages there to keep it on life support.
My ex said I was a workaholic…that he came second to The Red Brand. Of course, he did. Especially after he started fooling around publicly, making me his last and least favorite priority… An inveterate narcissist, he refused to divorce me until he milked me for every financial drop I was worth… But then, a little over six months ago, he showed up out of the blue with signed paperwork. Even better, he’s remained no-contact ever since. An unexpected blessing.
I press my fingertip to the button, unlocking my passwords and selecting the correct username from the drop-down menu. Once inside, I open the email, double-clicking on the attached Excel spreadsheet. It opens onto a who’s-who of big-wig celebrities and investors. The numbers by each name sit in the six and seven figures, and I gulp at the total near the bottom.
“There’s no way,” I hiss.
He chuckles. “I knew money would make you listen.”
“This is not possible. Not for a podunk Western wear brand backed by two defunct rodeo stars.”
“Okay, you’re definitely going to need to keep your mouth shut in the boardroom with an elevator speech like that. Damn, girl. That’s downright depressing. Fortunately, Rowdy’s good at doing the talking.”
“Since when?” I ask caustically. The last time I saw Rowdy, four Christmases ago, he barely said three words to me. He’s the epitome of the strong, silent type.
I’m genuinely curious to have Billy answer my question, but he ignores me. “For someone who claims to have her pulse on the latest fashion trends, big-city living has dulled your senses. Don’t you keep up with all the cowboy movies and TV shows these days? Or the resurgence of Country music? Cowboys are king, big sis, and Jameson & Cash is poised to ride the hell out of it. And by the way, Rowdy and I stopped rodeoing at the top of our game and the top of the leaderboard, not as de… What did you call us?”
“Defunct,” I sigh, my eyes glued to the numbers. “If cowboys are king, and I’m so out of touch, why do you need me?”
“We need your street cred, and you need our vision.”
I laugh so uncontrollably that I choke on my own spit.
“Have you seen the value of Red shares lately? Do I need to mention your last round of reviews from Fashion Week? You may have been everyone’s it girl a couple of years ago. But now you’re a brand trending into irrelevancy.”
He’s right, which pisses me off to no end. “You’re the last person on this planet who should talk about fashion trends.”
“Apple Bottom Jeans…”
“What does that mean?”
“Candies… Bugle Boy…”
Fury grips me as he taunts me with once iconic brands. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Go to the third tab of the spreadsheet, where you’ll see Jameson & Cash’s current valuation.”
Begrudgingly, I follow his instructions, wheezing at the figure. “Who did your numbers?”
“The report has our accounting firm listed at the top. Look them up on the Better Business Bureau if you don’t believe me.”
My eyes flicker to the company’s name, and I press my lips tightly together. Everything looks legit.
“If all of this is true, and that’s a big ‘if’ that will require more investigation on my part, what do I get for bringing you under the Red umbrella?”
“Not under the Red umbrella, sis. I’m talking about a partnership... See, here’s the thing. I’m kind of over the whole fashion industry. It’s way too much fucking work. After all, you only have one life, and time is a resource you can’t get back no matter how much money you stockpile. You and Rowdy don’t seem to get that, although I hope someday you’ll see the cosmic joke before it’s too late. But I refuse to be a sucker, so I’ve relocated and plan on opening a little island bar. That’s it. I want out, and so I’m offering you my half of the company for a stake in your future profits.”
My eyes narrow. “What kind of stake?”
“Let our lawyers hash out what’s fair, sis. I’m not trying to screw you, and I hope you haven’t been in the City so long you’d screw me over, either. I want a passive source of income to support my island lifestyle.”
“You’re being too nice…” This makes me even more nervous.
He guffaws. “You know I’ve never cared a lick about money. For me, it’s a means to an end. That’s all.”
He speaks the truth. Still, so many years in the cutthroat fashion industry make me distrust every one, even my closest kin. After all, nothing comes for free…or even cheap.
“Look, sis, the investors are ready to sign checks once we’ve got buy-in from Red. Just think about what they’ll be willing to do if you start playing the part, acting as a partner.”
The gears in my head turn frantically. He has a point. And whether I want to admit it, I need this offer now more than ever. But Rowdy? Ugh! “What about the whole engagement bullshit?”
“Oh, that was Malia’s doing. Nothing like a celebrity relationship to get the press’s attention and social media trending. Just look at Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce.”
“Yeah, but they actually like each other. You know I can’t stand your douche canoe friend.”
Billy grunts. “Pretend to like each other for a couple of weeks and then break it off. No harm, no foul, as I said earlier. But the serious potential for priceless publicity.”
My eyes rove over the spreadsheet. This may feel like a one-way ticket to a clown show, but I like these numbers. And truth be told, The Red Brand could use a reboot and some new lifeblood. Desperately, actually.
“I’ll have my accountants look over everything,” I concede.
“Yep. You do that, and I’ll send over wiring instructions.”
“You mentioned the first fit modeling tomorrow?”
“Thinking about attending, sis?”
Resignation floods my voice. “If we’re going to do this, we better do it right. Besides, a first fit testing is monumentally important. I doubt your dumbass bestie grasps the magnitude of this… By the way, what does Rowdy think about everything?”
Billy laughs. “Dunno. I tried emailing him yesterday but haven’t heard back.”
“You think emailing your best friend is the best way to break this news to him?” I bark, my stomach knotting at the thought of dealing with that loser cowboy again or my hometown of Alpha Ridge Creek.
Billy doesn’t answer, and I don’t pursue it further. I have far bigger problems than analyzing my baby brother and his best friend’s dysfunctional relationship. I’m out of options with Red, in debt to my eyeballs, and less than the majority owner. I order, “I’ll have Nico research flights. Goodbye, you little twit.”
Billy chuckles. “Nice talking to you, too, sis.”